


To Those Who Wait

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Married Femstrade, Oral Sex, femstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: During the working week, Minerva Holmes-Lestrade wears the crown. It's now Sunday - and that means Georgie is in charge.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	To Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't enough Femstrade around on AO3. <3 Let's add a little more to the pot. Give me a shout if you ever find this posted off-site. (I hate adding these notes to my fics, but I've had things stolen way too many times. Thanks for understanding.)

Min needs this sometimes—this absolute relinquishing of control. From Monday to Friday, she rules the whole world and everybody in it. All their problems are her problems; every detail must be managed. When the weekend rolls around, she likes to take off her crown and be a subject of Georgie's kingdom for a while. 

It's taken time to find their way here. Trust has grown around their bond like climbing ivy. Things have been tried; things have been tested. Some were discounted, while some have been kept.

This one has been a favourite ever since the first time.

Georgie only ever leaves her for twenty minutes at a time. It's enough to make a cup of tea and drink it, wash a few pots, maybe fold some laundry. Min has told her the wait feels like hours and seconds at once. There's something intoxicating about sitting downstairs in the lounge, watching ten minutes of TV by herself while taking in not a word of what's happening on the screen. The sight waiting for Georgie upstairs is too pretty to put out of her mind.

As she nudges open the bedroom door, her wife's head inclines at once towards the sound.

"Darling?" Min gasps. Her wrists flex in desperation against their bonds, colour flooding her face beneath the blindfold. "Darling..."

Georgie says nothing, strolling slowly and idly to the end of the bed. The muscles in Min's thighs tense and release, spread wide open for Georgie's gaze. 

Min moans a little at her silence, biting down, trembling already.

"Please," she whispers, swallowing. "Please, darling—please—please, I need..."

Georgie smiles to herself, taking a minute more just to enjoy this view: the restless rise and fall of Min's breasts, the curling of her fingers around the velvet restraints. Georgie bought them in periwinkle blue so they'd look pretty with her skin and her ruffled chestnut hair. The colour makes her body seem as soft and white as new snow, save for the prettiest and most secret parts of her. Those parts are flushed rose pink with longing for what she needs, her nipples tightened into peaked little buds. She's the most mouth-watering sight on this planet, and this sight is for Georgie's eyes alone.

Unbuttoning her shirt sleeves, Georgie rolls them slowly back to the elbow. This gets messy; Min has been soaked ever since the first twenty minute wait. 

As Georgie's weight rocks the mattress, Min whimpers, tightening, throwing back her head against the pillows.

"Georgina—" she cries out, shaking.  _ "Please!" _

Sometimes Georgie teases her between waits, sometimes treats her nicely. It's all part of the fun on these Sunday afternoons. Min never knows if she's going to get what she needs this time or be wound up even more, left for another twenty minutes to pull against her ties and pant. She's been extremely good this weekend, though—not sneaking glances at her phone during dinner, not answering emails after noon. Good behaviour gets rewarded.

Georgie trails a few small kisses along Minerva's snowy inner thighs, listening to her pant. She gives a fond and gentle bite or two, just to remind Min that she can—that it's Sunday, and that it's Georgie who rules the world on Sundays. She then slides the point of her tongue in one long, lascivious stripe between Min's legs, finishing at her clit with a firm and hungry flash.

Min's back bows upwards off the mattress. Her hips try to buck and she cries, then starts to beg at such a pitch she's incoherent, wrenching at her ankle ties. The bed holds her perfectly in place, right where she's meant to be.

Humming, sliding both arms beneath Min's thighs, Georgie settles in to make her scream.


End file.
